Pig dropped from helicopter into millionaires swimming pool!!
Avoid imitations
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Was the pig a ham actor?
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NICE DROP
I remember many moons ago dropping flour bags in a competition and finding it very difficult to hit the target, turned out later bombed the wrong target any how got the wrong coordinates, and most people behind bombed the poor unsuspecting farm house too!
OINKAMATIC!
As a resident of Cincinnati (pronounced "Zinzinnati" by the Germanic-derived locals who comprise a majority of our city's population), I am delighted to see a number of references to this fair town here! We are a couple of hundred miles down the Ohio River from its origin, the confluence of the Allegheny and Monongahela rivers in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, and within 500 miles of more than one-half of the U.S. population. DHL and Amazon have their largest hubs here; a century ago the "Queen City" was known as "Porkopolis", for hundreds of thousands of pigs were brought from near and far by riverboat to be slaughtered and processed. Their pathetic oinking for leniency and mercy went unanswered!
I have been on this good Earth for eight decades now and I have lived in the Southeastern United States for many of those years. I have consumed that Nectar of the Gods, Barbeque, in my hometown of Atlanta, my adoptive home of Roanoke Island, North-by-Gawd-Cackylacky, and several other locales of deserved fame and merit. I can tell you without reservation that Cincinnati has the best barbeque of all. Take ribs: the meat falls off the bone: perfectly seasoned, sauced, and smoked, it leaps into one's mouth where, upon each chew, contained thermonuclear explosions of delicate flavor paint pictures of winged-pig Heav'n upon one's greedy tongue. Pulled pork? First, harp music. Next, elevate the delicacy to one's mouth. Bite down and explode with the ecstasy of porcine perfection! It is one's gastric heartstrings which are pulled, not the pork!
But I digress. My Bride and I dwell seven miles South of General Electric/SNECMA's huge jet engine manufacturing facility, the largest of its type on the planet. (My first cousin was once the chief of Quality Control there.) We presume that Evendale, as it is called, is among the primary target priorities of our current thermonuclear-armed adversaries. Come a war and an multi-megaton airburst, WE'LL be the barbecue, pigs and all....
- Ed
p.s. Bacon is GOD. Also Clapton!
I have been on this good Earth for eight decades now and I have lived in the Southeastern United States for many of those years. I have consumed that Nectar of the Gods, Barbeque, in my hometown of Atlanta, my adoptive home of Roanoke Island, North-by-Gawd-Cackylacky, and several other locales of deserved fame and merit. I can tell you without reservation that Cincinnati has the best barbeque of all. Take ribs: the meat falls off the bone: perfectly seasoned, sauced, and smoked, it leaps into one's mouth where, upon each chew, contained thermonuclear explosions of delicate flavor paint pictures of winged-pig Heav'n upon one's greedy tongue. Pulled pork? First, harp music. Next, elevate the delicacy to one's mouth. Bite down and explode with the ecstasy of porcine perfection! It is one's gastric heartstrings which are pulled, not the pork!
But I digress. My Bride and I dwell seven miles South of General Electric/SNECMA's huge jet engine manufacturing facility, the largest of its type on the planet. (My first cousin was once the chief of Quality Control there.) We presume that Evendale, as it is called, is among the primary target priorities of our current thermonuclear-armed adversaries. Come a war and an multi-megaton airburst, WE'LL be the barbecue, pigs and all....
- Ed
p.s. Bacon is GOD. Also Clapton!
The ‘millionaire entrepreneur’ who owned the pool claims he was in his house and the first he knew of it was loud noise.
Yeah right. So he didn’t know anything about some bloke in his backyard randomly filming overhead helicopters in case they dropped something.
Welcome to social media marketing. It’s even more dishonest than conventional marketing, but it sure works!
Yeah right. So he didn’t know anything about some bloke in his backyard randomly filming overhead helicopters in case they dropped something.
Welcome to social media marketing. It’s even more dishonest than conventional marketing, but it sure works!
Cavuman1, What do you drink with your BBQ?
But, I have to say I did enjoy cavuman1's post, whatever it was assisted by. And I'm now dreaming of Zinzinnati pulled pork.
Liquid Accompaniments
nomorehelosforme and Robbo Jock - a nice bourbon, say Pappy Van Winkle's Family Reserve, or a lovely lager, perhaps Great Lakes Dortmunder, compliments the pig as it traipses down one's esophagus! Should either of you - or any other PPRuNers - be in the area, it would be our pleasure to treat you to a feast of major proportions. We might start here: https://www.montgomeryinn.com/ Just shoot me a PM!
- Ed
p.s. nomorehelosforme, I note that you spend time in my old stomping grounds of "Hotlanner, Jawja"! Is there still an Old Hickory House on Pharr Road in Buckhead? They had some very good Q. Our home was on Habersham Road and I graduated from Westminster (all those years ago....)
- Ed
p.s. nomorehelosforme, I note that you spend time in my old stomping grounds of "Hotlanner, Jawja"! Is there still an Old Hickory House on Pharr Road in Buckhead? They had some very good Q. Our home was on Habersham Road and I graduated from Westminster (all those years ago....)
Last edited by cavuman1; 20th Jan 2020 at 15:42. Reason: Add Postscript
Thanks for the offer Ed. Unfortunately, when I'm in the US I tend to confine myself to a little town called Winter Park (well, the town and nearby slopes) in the Colorado Rockies almost exactly due west of you by about 1,100nm.
If I ever do find myself in your neighbourhood I will most certainly be pleased to join you in one of those fine-looking eateries.
If I ever do find myself in your neighbourhood I will most certainly be pleased to join you in one of those fine-looking eateries.
Thread Starter
p.s. nomorehelosforme, I note that you spend time in my old stomping grounds of "Hotlanner, Jawja"! Is there still an Old Hickory House on Pharr Road in Buckhead? They had some very good Q. Our home was on Habersham Road and I graduated from Westminster (all those years ago....)
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Cavuman1, you must be inebriated if you think Cincinnati has better pork BBQ than North Carolina (though I must give it to the Texans for beef BBQ)
Robbo Jock, I can’t recall the restaurant name, but I remember one of the best breakfast places I’ve encountered being in Winter Park.
As for BBQ by helicopter in the Southeastern US, the “Pik-n-Pig” at Gilliam-McConnell Airfield (with appropriate ICAO code “BQ1”) is a cool location: www.pik-n-pig.com
Robbo Jock, I can’t recall the restaurant name, but I remember one of the best breakfast places I’ve encountered being in Winter Park.
As for BBQ by helicopter in the Southeastern US, the “Pik-n-Pig” at Gilliam-McConnell Airfield (with appropriate ICAO code “BQ1”) is a cool location: www.pik-n-pig.com
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As for BBQ by helicopter in the Southeastern US, the “Pik-n-Pig” at Gilliam-McConnell Airfield (with appropriate ICAO code “BQ1”) is a cool location: www.pik-n-pig.com
Battle of the Barbeques
RMK, I cannot disagree, for Nawth-by-God-Cackylacky Q is exquisite! It is simply a different animal (see what I did there?) than its Midwestern iteration. When my Bride and I lived in Kitty Hawk, we frequented a restaurant there called High Cotton. They served the best Q I have ever eaten. Unfortunately, they do not ship their stellar product, nor will they divulge their secret sauce recipe.
Robbo Jock, we'd love to meet you, so remember that our offer stands! Sounds like you are a skier, which is my favorite sport of all time. Raised in New England, I skied every slope there, including Stowe, Killington, Stratton, and Mad River Glen. Those fine slopes don't hold a candle to those in the Rockies, however, and having done Aspen, Snowmass, and Park City, I'd love to join you on one of your forays. There is much to be said for the sport of Apres Skiing as well, I'm sure you'll concur!
nomorehelosforme, thank you for your kind response! When I was born in Atlanta in 1949, the city's population was 400,000. Now it's 7.5 million, too big and traffic-ridden for me! I am not surprised that "Botch-Head" is full of skyscrapers now, and yes, I remember 55 Pharr Road.
Here's a "Pharr Out" barbeque story for you. Back in 1969, my soon-to-be-sister-in-law was dating a 6'2", blond-haired, broad-shouldered, Greek God named Bill A. Bill owned an advertising agency and had landed the very lucrative Hickory House account. He came up with the (stupid) idea of a "spokespig" named "Hickory Hawg". Some cretin would dress up in a pig outfit (think NFL-style mascot with exaggerated features) and do a series of television commercials which ended with the tagline: "Hickory Hawg say Hickory House has de bes' barbeque!" So Pharr, so good.
Bill had hired some ne'er do well to dress in the pig get-up and stand in front of the Hickory House's flagship restaurant on Pharr Road and beckon passersby, both vehicular and ambulatory, to go in and grunt some Q. It was Independence Day, the Fourth of July. The job requirements included: don't show up drunk, don't expose yourself, no profanity, stay out for two hours in the hot summer sun of Hotlanner, then collect $100 (a king's ransom in those days). Easy, right?
And so it came to pass that moments before the pig gig was to begin, the human porcine simulacrum, drunk as forty Hells, managed to call Bill and tell him that he could find someone else to run his perverted Island of Dr. Moreau on the furnace-like sidewalk in front of the Hickory House. OH, NO! There was but one choice: Bill would have to become Hickory Hawg and do some epileptiform Morris Dance in front of his valued client's place of bidness, as we say down South. And so he did.
About an hour into this command performance, Bill was sweating up a storm, feeling rather faint, and wondering why he ever got into the AD GAME in the first place. I'll let him take it from here in his own words:
"I had been dancing around in this God-D***ed pig costume for what seemed like an eternity, when a long-haired, disheveled hippie pedestrian approached me at a rather brisk pace. As he drew near, I went into character and said in my best redneck accent 'Hickory Hawg say go on in an' eat the Worls' bes' bah-bee-que!'"At which point, the sidewalk cruiser, who had been gazing at Pig Bill's paper mache' head with inordinate interest, said in a loud but even voice: 'Take this, you F-in' PIG' and proceeded to kick Bill so hard in his unprepared groin that our advertising Guru was lifted two feet into the air, then descended to the hotplate concrete sidewalk in a confused heap! His testicles now resided in the place his ovaries would be, were he a woman. Thereupon he commenced to fill his semi-crushed pig head with less-than-fragrant vomit and bile as he tenderly cradled his wounded vacant scrotum with shaking hands.
There is much more to the story, but I can tell you that Bill got out of the advertising business and into the coal business, where he made, then lost, millions. Perhaps he was dressed as a miner?
Apologies for the thread drift, but this was, kinda/sorta, about our porcine friends.
- Ed
Robbo Jock, we'd love to meet you, so remember that our offer stands! Sounds like you are a skier, which is my favorite sport of all time. Raised in New England, I skied every slope there, including Stowe, Killington, Stratton, and Mad River Glen. Those fine slopes don't hold a candle to those in the Rockies, however, and having done Aspen, Snowmass, and Park City, I'd love to join you on one of your forays. There is much to be said for the sport of Apres Skiing as well, I'm sure you'll concur!
nomorehelosforme, thank you for your kind response! When I was born in Atlanta in 1949, the city's population was 400,000. Now it's 7.5 million, too big and traffic-ridden for me! I am not surprised that "Botch-Head" is full of skyscrapers now, and yes, I remember 55 Pharr Road.
Here's a "Pharr Out" barbeque story for you. Back in 1969, my soon-to-be-sister-in-law was dating a 6'2", blond-haired, broad-shouldered, Greek God named Bill A. Bill owned an advertising agency and had landed the very lucrative Hickory House account. He came up with the (stupid) idea of a "spokespig" named "Hickory Hawg". Some cretin would dress up in a pig outfit (think NFL-style mascot with exaggerated features) and do a series of television commercials which ended with the tagline: "Hickory Hawg say Hickory House has de bes' barbeque!" So Pharr, so good.
Bill had hired some ne'er do well to dress in the pig get-up and stand in front of the Hickory House's flagship restaurant on Pharr Road and beckon passersby, both vehicular and ambulatory, to go in and grunt some Q. It was Independence Day, the Fourth of July. The job requirements included: don't show up drunk, don't expose yourself, no profanity, stay out for two hours in the hot summer sun of Hotlanner, then collect $100 (a king's ransom in those days). Easy, right?
And so it came to pass that moments before the pig gig was to begin, the human porcine simulacrum, drunk as forty Hells, managed to call Bill and tell him that he could find someone else to run his perverted Island of Dr. Moreau on the furnace-like sidewalk in front of the Hickory House. OH, NO! There was but one choice: Bill would have to become Hickory Hawg and do some epileptiform Morris Dance in front of his valued client's place of bidness, as we say down South. And so he did.
About an hour into this command performance, Bill was sweating up a storm, feeling rather faint, and wondering why he ever got into the AD GAME in the first place. I'll let him take it from here in his own words:
"I had been dancing around in this God-D***ed pig costume for what seemed like an eternity, when a long-haired, disheveled hippie pedestrian approached me at a rather brisk pace. As he drew near, I went into character and said in my best redneck accent 'Hickory Hawg say go on in an' eat the Worls' bes' bah-bee-que!'"At which point, the sidewalk cruiser, who had been gazing at Pig Bill's paper mache' head with inordinate interest, said in a loud but even voice: 'Take this, you F-in' PIG' and proceeded to kick Bill so hard in his unprepared groin that our advertising Guru was lifted two feet into the air, then descended to the hotplate concrete sidewalk in a confused heap! His testicles now resided in the place his ovaries would be, were he a woman. Thereupon he commenced to fill his semi-crushed pig head with less-than-fragrant vomit and bile as he tenderly cradled his wounded vacant scrotum with shaking hands.
There is much more to the story, but I can tell you that Bill got out of the advertising business and into the coal business, where he made, then lost, millions. Perhaps he was dressed as a miner?
Apologies for the thread drift, but this was, kinda/sorta, about our porcine friends.
- Ed
Last edited by cavuman1; 21st Jan 2020 at 18:09.
